Body Count
by anonymityforthedreamer
Summary: The Hangman is an enigma; traveling the country, slaying witches, and leaving a trail of myths and unanswered questions in their wake. On a small job gone wrong, the opportunity for revenge is present, but the Hangman knows better than to go in alone. To seize the day, they'll need the power of numbers and calls Bobby to send in backup, risking the best kept secret... Her identity.


**Hello all, and welcome! This story has been weighing on me since I started watching the series, so I made the leap to put it online for you all to hopefully enjoy it as much as I do. I have, as a writer, been on hiatus for about seven or so years, and am currently beta-less on everything I post. So please bear with me on any mistakes, and give me any feedback you might have towards my prose, the story itself, or any and all suggestions you may have. With that having been said, go enjoy some Dean. ;D**

It's a damn beautiful day today. I'm blasting down I-495 in historic Massachusetts in my rusty old beat up Subaru WRX. Mötley Crüe's blaring through the speakers, and I'm on my way to gank a small coven of witches in Revere. They've been causing a bit of trouble, enough to pop up on Bobby Singer's radar, so he put me on the trail. My specialty is witches; they're downright foul, but hey! Someone's gotta get down and dirty, right? Well, that someone is little old me.

I've been called all kinds of things in my 25 years, but I think my favorite name is The Hangman. Hunters from all over this great nation track me down through Bobby whenever they have a case too big for their plate, or simply when they suspect it's a witch or witches. I guess it's just easier to call in a professional; it's certainly a better option than risking your own hide.

There are four hunters who have have met me, the rest just know the stories. It's kind of strange to know that hundreds of people all over the U.S. know what I'm capable of, but have no friggin idea as to who I am. I mean hell, I'm not Batman or something by any means, but you wouldn't expect me to be what is essentially a mass serial killer if you bumped into me at a Taco Bell.

For the longest time the only Hunter I knew was my Mom. It wasn't easy growing up on the road, but she always made sure to only take on jobs that were in New England. She taught me everything she knew from the minute I was emancipated from her womb. Everything was going great up until I was seventeen, and she got a call from her friend Rufus about a coven in Maine practicing necromancy. Obviously she took it, and I went with her on my very first case.

The coven had more to it than we had thought. We were expecting maybe a dozen witches, not an entire fucking town. Long story short, we ganked 'em all, but not before their leader cursed my mom with some supernatural brain aneurysm and fled. She died three nights later at Mass General in Boston, and I've kind of made it my life to slaughter every witch on the planet.

It's been rough not having anyone, but I kind of like the quiet. It lets me do my own thing, and I don't gotta worry about losing anyone but my car. Bobby calls me when he or other hunters need my services, and Moms old friend Ellen calls once a week to make sure I'm still kicking. The other two hunters that I've met, Rufus and John, never call. I've gotten coordinates in a text once from John, but that was it. Him and my Mom weren't real close, but close enough that he came and stayed with me for a week in New Hampshire after Mom died till I was stable enough to be alone.

Since then, I've just been wandering the country picking off every witch I come across and any other monster in between that stands between me and the bitch who killed my mom. I guess that's how I got my nickname, and it just stuck. Now every Hunter that doesn't know me from coast to coast calls me the Hangman, expecting a man, and getting little old me.

I'm not too small, last time I checked I was five foot five. I ain't scrawny, but I ain't fat neither. I got some chub on my belly from the liquor, sure, but I'm built like a wall. My mom used to tell me I'd make a great football player; but chicks weren't allowed on the teams and we weren't around one place long enough for me to even be bothered. I have my Moms hair, long, obnoxiously wavy and the darkest shade of blonde you've ever seen. I tan real easy after I get burnt in the sun a few times, so I usually rock the baddest farmers tan there ever was. I guess for the most part, I'm a pretty plain girl. The only real thing that stands out are my eyes. They're pretty cool, not to toot my own horn, but they're dark green with bright grey outlines around the pupils and iris'. I was an anomaly growing up because of them, but hell, I think I'm badass and anyone who says otherwise can shit up a stick.

Anyhow, here I am, about ten minutes away from the bed and breakfast I'm gonna set up camp in for the next few nights until I can go in and kill these broads.

._._._._._._.

I'm on night three, and it's a fucking disaster. I located the coven on my first night; it wasn't too hard considering the idiots practically left a friggin trail for me. The disaster part is, it was a setup. The woman who killed my mother is here, and she had twelve witches wrapped around her finger. I ganked three, but I fled back to my room once I saw her. I won't go out the way mom did, I can't. I've worked too fucking hard. For the past five hours I've been pacing my room trying to come up with a plan, but I've only been drawing blanks.

Pacing and panicking isn't helping, and I refuse to let this beast ruin me. I walk over to my nightstand and grab my phone from the charger and punched in John Winchester's number. I let it ring till I got his voicemail directing me to call his son Dean. Like hell I was gonna call some stranger with this. I dialed Bobby's number, hoping he could get a hold of John for me.

"Lauren? Why are you calling?" Bobby asked, sounding worried. He should be, considering it was always him calling me, never the other way around.

"Hey, Bobby. Listen, I need some help... She's here. That bitch is here, and I think she plans on taking the whole town again. I hate to ask, but I could really use some backup on this one." I had started to cry about halfway through. Now, I'm no delicate flower, but I have every right to be terrified of this woman. I had thought I'd be ready for this moment with all of the witches and beasts I've brought down, but I was alone, and so fucking scared. I continued after I caught my breath a bit "I tried John first, but he didn't answer. Have you heard from him? I could do with his help right about now."

"Where are you staying, sweetheart? I can send two guys to you now, John's boys. They're good for it, just plain idjits if you ask me." He sounded a little off, the concern rang through clear as a bell, but I could tell he was hiding something.

"No, I don't want them. I don't even know them. I know John, I trust him with this. Can't you just send him?" I shouted. I wasn't in the mood to play games, I needed help NOW, and not from some boys who don't know what they're playing at

"Listen Lauren, I hate to tell you this, honestly I thought Ellen would've told ya, but John ain't with us no more... He died two years ago. The boys, Sam and Dean, they're great hunters. They hate dealing with witches, but I'm sure they'll be happy to finally meet the Hangman." John. John was gone, and I had to put up with two brats? Fucking wonderful.

"No, she never said a word. Fucking great. I wasn't really looking to have anyone else in on the little secret, but fuck it. Tell 'em I'm at the b 'n b off Main street. And Bobby? Let 'em know I'm a woman before they get to me?" I pressed the end call button and chucked my phone onto the small bed. All I could do now is wait on them and hope they got here before Amara could mind warp anyone else here.

._._._._._._.

Sam and Dean had just finished up a job in New York. There had been a group of vampires taking chunks out of students at NYU, so they took the case right away. It had been a while since they've had anything normal on their radar so when Bobby had called them with the job, they were all hands on deck.

They were headed south on the highway in Baby, arguing about whether they should head to the Roadhouse or to Bobby's place to tune up the car when Sam's phone started ringing.

"Speak of the Devil, what's going on Bobby? You got something for us?" Sam said into the mouthpiece trying to sound cheery.

"You idjits finish up with them vamps?" Sam could hear Bobby moving books around frantically. He looked at Dean and shrugged before reaching for his notebook and pen, getting ready to write down their next job.

"Uh, yeah we're heading to you now, why? Is everything - " Bobby cut Sam short, speaking over him hurriedly.

"No you're not, you're gonna turn your tails around and head into Revere Mass. I got a hunter there dealing with a powerful witch, and they could use the help."

Sam put Bobby on speaker because Dean kept nudging him trying to figure out what Bobby was saying.

"Okay, one witch shouldn't be that big 'a deal... We're heading east now." Sam said as Dean let out a loud groan of pure distaste. If he hated anything it was witches.

"Don't be an idjit. This ain't no small time rodeo, it was supposed to be an easy in an' out, but there's a head honcho. It was a big curve ball for -" Bobby was cut short by Dean, who was fighting gagging.

"Look, Bobby, can't you just send someone else," he slowly turned onto the rotary that would take them into western Massachusetts. "You know I hate witches man, anything but witches."

"No, now quit'cher bitchin' and listen good; this ain't gonna be an easy one. The witches name is Amara, she's old as hell, and she's got the power to prove it. She turns towns into witches, we don't know how, but she shows up and does some witch mojo and bam, you've got a town full of nasty." Bobby paused to catch a breath. "If you look in your dad's journal, there should be a page about her. He never had the chance to go after her, but it was on his list."

Sam grabbed the journal from his bag and flipped through until he came to a page that had a noose drawn on it. He read through and instantly knew who they'd be hunting alongside.

"Shit Bobby, are you telling me the Hangman, _THE_ Hangman is aski-" Dean interrupted Sam with a loud whoop.

"Are you kiddin' me? No shit! That guys one of the best hunters out there, and he wants us to help him?" Deans interest in the case went from zero to one hundred; It wasn't every day you get to kill monsters with a legend.

"Would you two shut up?! Head towards Main street in Revere, you'll find a small bed and breakfast, go there. Oh, and boys? Treat her nice would ya?" Bobby said before hanging up and leaving them to mull over what he just dropped on them.

Dean gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as he floored the gas. He hated hunting witches, but if the enigma that was the best witch hunter in the country wanted help, he was there. He was lost in thought as they crossed the border into Massachusetts, trying to think of what this guy was actually like. For the first time in a long time, he was excited.

"Hey, uh, Dean? Did you catch that part where Bobby told us to 'treat her nice'?" Sam said, clearly confused. For the past hour he'd been trying to work that out, and the only conclusion he could come to was that the Hangman, was actually a hang _woman._

"Yeah, he wants us to kill Amara real good or whatever. Sure. Why?" They had another hours worth of driving to do, and Dean just wanted silence so he could practice his grand introduction in his head while he had the time.

"Well, what if he meant that she's a woman... The Hangman, y'know?" Sam was truly bothered. The past eight years have been full of stories about how hunters had gone to take care of covens causing too much trouble, but when they'd get to the location it's all be wrapped up; bones burned and all. The only thing that could ever link the cases together were a small copper coin that said 'The Hangman, Salem MA, 1692' on one side, with a picture of a large man with a sack over his head holding a noose on the other. At every scene, the ashes would be pushed into a pile with the coin on top.

Dean took his brothers words into consideration for a moment, then immediately dismissed it.

"No, Sammy, not a chance in hell. Have you seen the crap this guys dealt with? I mean, woman power and all, but no lady we know could do _that_ much damage." He turned the radio on full blast, CCR filling the cabin, and kept his eyes on the prize. Sam shrugged and looked back at his dad's journal to try and find out more on Amara.

._._._._._.

I checked my watch, wondering what in the hell was taking these two goons so friggin long. Bobby had called after he spoke with them and gave me a two hour time frame, and we were beating the third hour.

If there was one thing I hated, it was tardiness. I was always on point where I was needed, so I damn well expect the same, especially from Johns boys.

I pulled on my navy New England Patriots sweater that was entirely too big on me and tucked my hair inside before situating my hood on my head. Then I grabbed my pack of Marlboro Reds off of the nightstand and room key. If I gotta wait for them, I might as well be outside to berate them when they pull up. I locked my room up, made the descent down the carpeted stairs of the inn and parked my ass on the stoop out front.

I lit my cigarette with a match, took a long drag and closed my eyes. For me, sometimes just sitting and listening to all the noises around me helps calm me down. I stayed like that for a few minutes, occasionally taking a drag, before I flicked the cancer stick and decided it might be best if I just watched from my rooms window. When I stood up I could hear a familiar engine rumbling towards my direction. _Baby._ I practically skipped to the sidewalk when I saw her turn the corner and park about ten yards to my left. I couldn't see much in the car due to the lack of sunlight at midnight, but I could make out two figures. The one riding bitch was a friggin mammoth. _Too big, he's like a neon sign that screams 'here I am, kill me now'._ I couldn't make out anything about the driver other than he wasn't a walking death trap. I stayed glued to my spot staring at them through the windshield with my hood over my head.

I could tell they were uncomfortable with me already, which was a good thing for me. If I can intimidate them right off the bat, maybe they won't think I'm so friggin precious when they meet me. The mammoth made the first move and unfolded himself from the car, bringing two bags out with him. He took a leaf from my book and stared right back at me; it was like a Mexican standoff, and I wanted nothing more than to shoot him in the leg and die laughing.

He was handsome enough, about my age, just way too friggin _huge._

I saw the other brother climb out of the old Impala and walk to join the mammoth-man. Now, this guy was the right height. Not too tall, not short by any means, maybe around five foot eleven. That, I could work with. Neither of them made any move to say or come towards, so I did exactly what I did to Rufus when I met him; I reached into the pocket of my sweatpants and grabbed one of the coins I had bought in bulk from the wax museum in Salem, flipped it towards them, and walked up the path leading to the bed and breakfast. I climbed the steps and opened the front door before turning back to the two men on the sidewalk and nodded at them before going inside and heading to my room upstairs.

I had enough time to unlock the door and kick off my sneakers before I heard heavy boots coming up the stairwell. I rushed to sit at the small antique table in the corner of the room facing away from the door, when I heard one of them clear their throat before crossing the threshold. Someone closed the door, and finally I felt like a trapped rat.

"I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean. Bobby Singer said you might need help wi-" one of them said before the other cut him off.

"Dude, it's such an honor. I mean you gank the nastiest things man, I'm really-" this time _I_ cut _him_ off. I stood from my chair, pulled my hood down and dug all of my hair out from inside my sweater before turning to face them.

"Well, _dude,_ thanks for coming. I'm sorry to hear about John, he was good to me." I looked at the mammoth-man, "I had actually tried to find him, but, y'know. So, Bobby gave me you two." The naturally heighted one was _hot._ I couldn't stop myself from looking him up and down, essentially eye-fucking him before I settled on his face. He looked shocked, but I can't blame him. Shit, if you heard about a man that was actually a woman you'd be pretty freaked out too.

"So who's who here? Or should I just go with the nefarious names I got brewin' in my melon?" I sighed, pilling off my sweater to reveal my cherished Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt. I had to cut the sleeves off after a bad incident with a wendigo four years back, but past that it was still in prime condition.

The mammoth moved from under the devils trap i had taped to the ceiling over the doorway and towards me to sit at the table. "Well, I'm Sam, that's my broth-" Doctor Feel-good, which is my new name for the hottie who tossed his bag next to the nightstand and took the liberty lay down on my bed, cut him off.

"I'm Dean, sweetheart. Real nice to finally meet ya." He said with a wink. Can we say panty dropper? Sweet baby Jesus, please, do get comfortable; preferably naked, with me.

Oh hell, he's going to be a massive distraction.


End file.
